Scar Tissue
by Janieshi
Summary: "It'd be like equivalent exchange—he'd offer her the chance to shoot him in the back in exchange for defacing the secrets that were imprinted on hers." Mild Royai, mostly friendship with a little bit of angst, all sorts of spoilers!
1. Chapter 1

**Scar Tissue**

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><p>"<em>I asked you to do this because you're the only one I can trust," she'd said softly.<em>

Mustang sighed. He _really _didn't want to honor her request. A large part of him had been hoping that she'd forget all about it once they were back home. But of course, _he_ hadn't been able to forget: he'd given Riza Hawkeye his word as she knelt over the fresh grave of an Ishvalan child. Like it or not, he simply could not break another promise to her.

At least he'd managed to dissuade her from having it done right then and there, on an abandoned battlefield of blood-soaked sand and half-demolished buildings. He'd been thinking of the unsanitary conditions and the risk of infection, true, but he'd also wanted some time to prepare himself. So he'd reminded Hawkeye that all of the soldiers returning from the front lines would have a short furlough before being reassigned to their new posts, which meant they'd both be in the same city for at least a little while. They'd have enough time to burn and deface her back before they were split up again. Once she'd agreed, he'd been careful to avoid her.

Mustang hadn't yet told her that he wanted her to be his adjutant—he'd decided to wait until their promotions came through officially before he said anything. Before he _did_ anything.

It'd be like equivalent exchange—he'd offer her the chance to shoot him in the back (should the need arise) in exchange for defacing the secrets that were imprinted on hers. It had a certain poetic justice, he thought.

The Flame Alchemist and the Hawk's Eye, heroic victors of the Ishvalan War? Of course they'd both be promoted—there was no doubt in Mustang's mind. All they needed to do was wait for the brass to sign off on the paperwork. Having a deadline, even a self-imposed one, would force him to _deal_ with this thing rather than avoiding it and half-hoping it would just go away.

But Hawkeye had grown tired of waiting. After a full week had passed and Mustang still hadn't called to make arrangements, she took matters into her own hands. Really, he should've realized she would call him on it sooner rather than later. As gentle and sweet as she'd always been, Riza wasn't the type to pull her punches.

Still, Mustang had never imagined that she'd turn up on his doorstep in the middle of the night.

Hawkeye stood trembling in the warm pool of light that spilled from the open door out onto his front stoop. Dressed in civilian clothes, she looked more like the timid young girl he remembered from his days of apprenticeship than like the talented sniper with the eyes of a killer that he'd gotten to know over the past several months. Her face was whiter than the blouse she wore, he noticed, but she pushed past him impatiently when he stepped aside to let her in. She hardly waited until the door was closed behind her before she began fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.

If he hadn't known what her intentions were already, he'd have been ecstatic… and Mustang cursed himself for allowing his mind to go straight to the gutter. _This is Riza Hawkeye_, he reminded himself. _My sensei's daughter. The girl that he begged me to look after as he died in my arms. Thank god I don't live in the barracks,_ he thought.

He could only imagine what the other men would have thought if they'd had to do this in a room at the barracks: a pretty young female cadet slips into Mustang's room late at night, they hear her screams shortly after, and then she slinks quietly away in the morning, her movements stiff and painful? Her reputation would be forever damaged. She'd be accused of sleeping her way to the top the second they learned about her promotion. And those rumors would only attract the sort of men who'd expect the same treatment in exchange for their "help" on the way up the ladder. At least his neighbors here would think nothing of his having a nighttime visitor. None of them would even notice, or care, that she was a solider.

As his thoughts raced along this path, Mustang ran a hand through his untidy dark hair, uncertain of what to say to the woman standing before him.

So she spoke first, spitting the words out with a bitterness he'd never before heard in her voice.

"You promised me," was all that she said as her shirt hit the floor and she turned her back to him resolutely.

It was a disturbing echo of the first time she'd revealed her secret to him, when she'd stood in her father's living room just after his funeral, quivering like a leaf. Mustang was taken as completely aback as he had been that first time; all he could do was cock his head to one side like a dim-witted golden retriever.

"What, you mean right _now_?" he asked stupidly, a bemused expression on his face. He could've slapped himself. _No, she meant next week, idiot. She's standing there half naked just for fun._ He sighed heavily. He had every intention of honoring his promise, of course, but he couldn't do this _now_. Not in the state he was in. An exhausted Flame Alchemist was incredibly dangerous to both himself and to others.

"Yes, now," she said tersely, interrupting his train of thought. "Let's just get this over with. _Please_," her voice cracked on the last word, and Mustang realized that she was still trembling.

Whether it was from fear of the anticipated pain or the cold night air on her bare skin, he wasn't entirely certain. But he wondered just how fragile a grip she had on her composure. How much effort did it take for her to stand there and pretend she was really ready for this? For all her haste to be done with this, Hawkeye hadn't even removed her bra. Mustang eased his jacket off his shoulders and moved toward her slowly, deliberately, as one might approach a wounded animal.

"Hey," he said softly. "Just calm down a second, let me get you some tea or water or something. All right?" And he gently placed his jacket over her shoulders before turning her around to face him, making a point not to stare at the pretty black scrap of lace and silk that just barely covered her breasts. The sight of tears streaming down her face distracted him sufficiently. He couldn't remember the last time she'd cried in front of him. Or whether she ever had.

"I—I just want it gone, Roy," she choked, trying to fight back the tears.

It was the use of his first name that revealed the extent of her desperation.

Like the obedient daughter she'd been, Hawkeye had always made a point of addressing Mustang formally as per her father's request, even after she'd shyly told him he could call her Riza if he wanted to. For her to use his first name like that—it told him that her desire to be free of this burden was greater than her fear of the impending pain, and stronger than the grip her late father still had over her heart. She was willing to accept disfigurement and even death if it meant she'd be liberated from bearing the legacy of Berthold Hawkeye on her skin.

Not knowing what else to do, Mustang pulled her into a tight embrace, stroking her short hair and shushing her softly. She melted into him, burying her damp face in his chest.

"Sh, I know you want it gone. This just… isn't the best time. Not to make excuses, but I—I haven't really slept in the past couple of nights," he said thickly. No need to explain why. He knew without having to ask that she'd had brutal nightmares as well—he recognized the haunted look in her eyes. "And you know as well as I do why that makes this way too dangerous to attempt," he continued.

She didn't respond, and so he kept talking just to fill the silence, running his hands up and down her back to soothe both her and himself.

"I don't even have sterile bandages or analgesics here. If I'm going to do this, then I'm going to do it _right_, okay?" She nodded against him, still clinging to his shirt as though her life depended on it. "I'm not going to lie to you—the thought of using flame alchemy on _you_, of all people, makes me physically ill. I don't want to cause you _any_ pain, much less leave you with scars," she flinched at that, and he pulled back a little.

With one finger, he gently tilted her chin, compelling her to look up at him. Mesmerized by the emotions clouding her honey-colored eyes, he dropped his voice to a whisper.

"I understand why I have to be the one to do this. And I _will_ destroy it for you, Riza. I gave you my word, didn't I?" he asked, and gently stroked a thumb across her tear-stained cheek.

Before he'd come up with anything comforting to say, Riza had her lips pressed against his. Throwing all logical thought out the window without the slightest hesitation, Roy kissed her back passionately. His hands snaked under fabric of their own accord, in search of the soft bare skin underneath the jacket he'd just given her. Meanwhile, her mouth was hot on his, demanding and fierce, and her fingers were tangled in his hair. But he could taste whiskey on her tongue. And when the implications of that fact finally made it through the haze of lust, the heat pooling in his stomach promptly turned into ice.

She was drunk?

As much as he'd love to fulfill this particular fantasy, how could he knowingly take advantage of Riza when she was drunk and vulnerable and afraid? What kind of callous bastard would that make him? With extreme reluctance, Roy pulled away from her. Nonplussed, Riza blinked at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips still slightly parted.

"Riza...Have you been _drinking_?" he asked incredulously.

The tone of his question was a little harsher than he'd intended. She gasped, looking stricken for a split second before her cheeks flushed darker. Her expressive eyes went blank, as though someone had flicked a light switch. She wrenched herself from his grip and would have stalked out the door wearing only his jacket draped over that pretty lacy bra, had he not moved faster and barred her way.

They stood facing each other, eyes narrowed. He was at least as stubborn as she was, and they both knew it.

"Please move," her voice was deathly calm although her face was still flushed in humiliation and anger.

Fresh tears were starting to well up in her eyes, and she needed to get out of here before they spilled over. She'd made a big enough fool of herself for one night. Why, oh why had she kissed him? Now he knew what she'd kept so carefully hidden all those years…and he'd made his feelings clear by pushing her away.

"No," he said simply, and leaned back against his door, arms folded.

"You can't just keep me here against my will," she managed to say. She was about to break down completely; she had to get out of this place. She didn't think she could handle Roy's pity on top of everything else.

"I beg to differ. I'm significantly stronger than you, for one thing. If you'd like to test that statement, I should probably warn you that I don't intend to fight fair," he smirked. "Regardless, I'm pretty sure you don't want to be out on the streets like that," and he gestured at her still-exposed black lace bra.

She stared down at herself, appalled. Had she forgotten that she was shirtless? It might have been funny if the situation were a little different.

"Damn it, Riza!" Mustang snapped, and he dropped the calm façade. "You mean too much to me to let this become some kind of drunken mistake!" Shit. He hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"I...wait, what?" She meant _too much_ to him..? But then…what the hell did that mean?

"Look," he plunged ahead desperately, hoping to distract her. "I told you I would get rid of the tattoo, and I will. But not tonight. Not when you're drunk and distraught and I haven't slept more than three hours in the past two days. I'm not willing to risk it. I can't just…" he made a frustrated little gesture. "You're far too precious to me," he said at last.

"I—oh," was all that she could think to say.

He thought she was drunk.

He wasn't that far off the mark, actually—she'd definitely had a few drinks to work up her courage to come here. (Damn Rebecca Catalina and her advice for loosening up and bolstering confidence!) Riza had also hoped the buzz of the alcohol in her blood would help dull the pain she knew she'd feel as the tattoo was seared from her flesh…but she wasn't exactly _drunk_.

He was offering her an out, she reasoned, giving her the chance to write off the kiss as an alcohol induced lapse in judgment. He'd assumed she wouldn't have kissed him unless she was drunk, obviously. But he hadn't made some condescending remark about being like a sister to him, or about how he loved her as a friend but wasn't in love with her. Also—and something told her that this next bit was important—he had just told her that she was precious to him. She should maybe apologize, or something.

Right?

As willing as Roy might be to pretend the kiss hadn't happened, she just couldn't just let it go without comment. It had been a really stupid thing to do.

"I'm sorry," she said in a tiny voice, the words leaping out before she'd even realized that she'd opened her mouth. "It's just…"

_Just _**what**_,_ _Riza_? she asked herself irritably. _It's just that I've been in love with you since we were kids? It's just that I've wanted to kiss you since I was fourteen? It's just that I wanted to be kissed by _**someone**_ before I'm so disfigured that I won't be able to let any man get to second fucking base without having to warn him about my horrible scars so I don't freak him out? It's just that I wanted to remember what it felt like that first time you touched my skin? What it felt like to know you wanted me for at least a brief moment, even if it was only because I was the only one who knew where my father had hidden his research notes? Even if it was because I AM my father's research notes? It's just that I _**have**_ been drinking, kind of a lot, and I'm so damn confused and I still love you and that kiss seemed like a good idea at the time? _

"I'm sorry," she finally said again, biting her lip and lowering her eyes.

_She must be completely terrified_, Roy thought, watching the emotions flit across her face. _This is my fault—she had to get wasted just to work up the courage to come to me like this. I should have called her sooner. I'm such a jerk_.

And then there was that kiss…oh god, that _kiss_…but he couldn't think about that now. That would be a treasured memory he locked carefully away while he prayed for a similar opportunity to arise when she was sober. He sighed heavily and moved towards her, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders.

"I should be the one apologizing, Riza. I've been a selfish coward. I shouldn't have made you wait; you shouldn't have been forced to come to me like this. It was stupid and childish of me to avoid you, and I'm sorry. Please…can you wait just a little longer?"

"Yes," she said to her shoes after a moment. "But…I still don't see _why_. Why won't you just do it now?"

"Look, you need to understand something: I'm not willing to actually _kill_ you, ok?" He squeezed her shoulders a little. "If I tried to do it now, we'd both be sorry. I absolutely will _not_ take that risk with your life. Remember what I told you before? I can control the range and depth of these damn flames well enough to burn just parts of your skin. It won't be easy, and it's still gonna hurt like nothing you've ever felt before. But I'm not going to fry off your _entire_ back indiscriminately," he said firmly.

"But-!" she cried, embarrassment forgotten in indignation. She glared at him. Hadn't he just said, again, that he would destroy it for her?

"Let me finish," he said softly. The look in his dark eyes was so intense that she blushed and looked away again. "It'll have to be precision work. I'm only going to focus on this portion here," and he ran one hand down to rest just below her shoulder blade. "That part's the key. Without it, the rest is indecipherable. If some other alchemist somehow sees it, he'll recognize it as a sigil, but he won't know what exactly it's for, even if he studies it as long as I did."

His words triggered an old memory: Mustang's hands had trembled when he'd first touched her back. His touch had been feather-light, and his breath had been warm against her neck when he had bent closer to study the tiny writing. And she'd wanted him to touch her skin so badly…Riza bit her lip harder.

Okay. So maybe she _was_ a little drunk.

_Note to self, Riza…never drink whiskey again unless you want to make a fool of yourself by trying to seduce a friend,_ she thought. _And also, stop taking Rebecca's advice_. (Though to be fair: As far as Rebecca had known when offering both the advice and the bottle, the whole reason that Riza had needed some liquid courage was _because_ she was heading out to seduce someone.)

"Look, it's really late," Roy said softly after a moment. "Is anyone waiting for you? Will they notice that you aren't home at this hour? Er, wait, are you staying in the barracks, or-?"

"Mm-hm. I'm in one of the women's dorms at barracks, but I have a whole corridor to myself. There aren't a lot of female soldiers in my unit," Riza replied softly. And she'd let Rebecca assume she'd be spending the night with her 'conquest,' so _she_ certainly wouldn't be concerned—and she'd cover for her if the need arose. "No one will be looking for me until Monday. That's—that's why I came over here tonight."

"All right…then stay here tonight," he said earnestly, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I'll sleep on the couch. And we'll deal with this in the morning, okay?"

_Dammit_, Riza thought, _don't I deserve a moment of weakness every now and again?_ She slowly and carefully laid her head on Roy's shoulder, relishing the feel of his arms locking around her protectively. She'd take what scraps of his affection she could get. She would not ruin this.

"Okay," she whispered.

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><p><strong>A.N. I know it's not terribly original. Everyone else has done a "how and when did Mustang burn off Hawkeye's tattoo" story, and I just kept thinking, "<strong>_**Me too, me too! I wanna try too**_**!" like a 6-year-old. :D Anyway, thank you for reading! There will be more to this story soon, please stay tuned!**

**xoxo Janieshi**


	2. Chapter 2

**Scar Tissue: Chapter 2**

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><p>"Hey, thanks for stopping by, Hughes," Mustang said in a low tone.<p>

Hughes just quirked his eyebrow. Normally, his friend would have invited him in, if only for a moment. And why the hell had he asked him to bring gauze and painkillers over at this hour anyway? He'd refused to say on the phone. And he didn't LOOK injured…actually he looked remarkably well-rested for someone who hadn't been sleeping lately. Something was definitely up.

"No problem, buddy. I got everything you asked for. But what's the deal; why'd you need all this stuff?" Yep, that question definitely made Roy uncomfortable, Hughes noticed.

"Erm, no particular reason, I just...um," Mustang stammered, thinking fast. "Oh all right. Look, I burned myself on the stove and I was too embarrassed to have to go into a pharmacy and admit that. What kind of Flame Alchemist burns himself cooking, huh?"

Dammit, why hadn't he thought up a better story before now! Hughes wasn't buying his half-assed excuse. In fact, it was making him even more suspicious.

"You're acting odd, Roy. And I thought you said you'd been suffering from insomnia, but you certainly look like you got a decent night's sleep last night." Roy shifted his weight awkwardly. Time he ended this conversation.

"Yep, slept like a baby! Well anyway, I won't keep you any longer. Thanks again; see you, Hughes!" And he made to shut the door in his friend's face. Hughes leaned against the doorframe, stopping him.

"Seriously, what's the deal with you? Hey, do you have a girl in here or something?" It was a Parthian shot, but it struck home. Hughes almost dropped to the floor in shock as Mustang's face drained of color. "Ohmigod, you do? Roy Mustang, you sly dog!" he cried giddily. "You never said a word about having a girl back home! So? Who's the lucky lady? Is she hot? I bet she's a blonde; you always seemed partial to the blondes. Come on, fess up!" Mustang hissed and slapped at his friend.

"Shh! Shut up, you idiot! It's not like that…and you'll wake her!" But Hughes was already leaning forward and craning his neck, trying to see over Mustang's shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of his mystery female guest.

Unbeknownst to either man, the sound of voices had in fact woken Riza. She carefully disentangled herself from the nest of blankets on Roy's couch, and stretched languorously. Although he'd tried to insist on having her take the bed, she'd dug her heels in and made herself comfortable on the leather sofa instead. She'd slept better than she had in weeks, nightmare-free for once. As she moved towards the door, thinking vaguely about coffee, the sound of voices piqued her curiosity. Who could Roy be talking to at this hour? It was barely seven.

Hawkeye was already halfway down the hallway before she remembered that she was still dressed in just the shirt she'd slept in. Before she could think about going back to the den to put on some proper clothes, she heard somebody say something about a dog. Puzzled, she peered cautiously around the corner so she could see into the foyer. Who had a dog? And why did that voice sound so familiar?

Hughes's bright green eyes locked onto hers over Mustang's shoulder. It was a toss-up as to which was more stunned by the sight of the other.

"Holy shit! Roy, you've got the _Hawk's Eye_ in there?" Maes squawked. He looked like he was about to explode with suppressed excitement. Roy spared a glance back over his shoulder, and realized that the jig was up. With a half-snarl, he grabbed his friend by the lapels of his coat and dragged him inside.

"What did I just say about shutting the hell up, Hughes!" Mustang demanded, snatching the paper bag of medical supplies out of his comrade's hands.

Riza stayed where she was, wondering whether she ought to be embarrassed or amused that Hughes thought someone who looked like Roy would want to seduce someone as plain as her. (And she firmly shoved all thoughts of last night's ill-advised kiss down deep, back where they belonged). It didn't occur to her that she made quite the picture dressed in nothing but one of Roy's old dress shirts, with her long elegant legs exposed to the thigh, her short blonde hair tousled, and those dark sleepy eyes of hers looking warm and relaxed.

Hughes had the feeling that he'd intruded on something profound. His eyes flicked between his friend and the stunning blonde sex-kitten pin-up girl standing casually in the hall as though she'd always been there. He'd only ever seen her dressed in battle-worn fatigues with a sniper rifle in hand and a hard expression on her pretty face, and he was having a hard time processing the paradigm shift. Utter disbelief all over his face, he turned back to Roy and raised an eyebrow. Mustang simply rolled his eyes and turned away to address Hawkeye.

"I'm really sorry about this, Riza. I was thinking about asking Dr. Knox to come over, but now that Maes is here… I don't think there's any sense in telling anyone else now. Plus, Hughes doesn't know alchemy, so this actually might be better," he looked at her imploringly. "I meant to warn you beforehand…but I'm going to need another person to help me do this," he said, willing her to understand why he was so casually inviting another man to see her partially naked body.

She did, of course. She always seemed to understand.

Hughes, though, was another story.

"Wait, what? Need another person to help you do what?" he asked warily. Shifting uncomfortably, he glanced at the door, which Mustang had already closed and locked behind him. Riza and Roy both chose to ignore him for the time being.

"Ah. You need someone to help hold me still, is that it?" Hawkeye asked, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and acting as though Hughes had not spoken.

_What does she mean, hold her still?_ Half horrified, half intrigued, Hughes's mouth dropped open. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from Hawkeye's face.

"Yes. I was thinking about it last night after you'd gone to sleep. I could maybe tie your arms down, but I don't want to leave marks where someone could see them and ask awkward questions," Mustang was saying. "I thought it might be better if we had someone pin you down by your shoulders." Hawkeye nodded, swallowing hard.

Hughes dabbed at his nosebleed with a handkerchief, mentally running through all sorts of scenarios, each more sordid than the last. This kind of talk, combined with the fact that he'd been asked to bring medical supplies over—just what had he walked into?

"I understand," Hawkeye said softly. "Well…if we need to involve someone else, then I'm glad it's someone that you already know and trust." Hughes, although he hadn't moved, was frantically checking the exits, questioning his sanity and wondering how the hell he was going to escape this bizarre, confusing fantasy. Mustang turned to him again, with an apologetic look. Hughes fought the urge to leap back out of reach and squeal like a frightened girl.

"Maes, remember when I told you that Riza and I were old friends? Well…there's a bit more to the situation than just that." The serious tone of Roy's voice roused Hughes. Adjusting his glasses, Hughes glared at his friend.

"Oh, is there really? Gee, Roy. I never would have guessed," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Could you two please knock it off with the riddles and tell me exactly what the hell I just got myself into?" Whatever was really going on here, it evidently wasn't what his dirty mind had been imagining, or Roy wouldn't sound so damn depressed right now. And the girl wouldn't look so sick. To his annoyance, they exchanged another of those loaded looks, communicating without speaking. It was Hawkeye who spoke first.

"I'm sure Mustang has already told you some of this," she began. "As you may know, my father was Mustang's alchemy teacher. During his lifetime, he mastered a very powerful type of elemental alchemy, but he refused to teach it to any of his students. He was afraid that they would misuse flame alchemy to gain fame and glory for themselves, rather than using it to benefit the people."

Hughes listened with rapt attention. At the word "flame," he looked sharply at Mustang, whose face was grim.

"My father knew that he was dying, and he desperately wanted to pass on his knowledge," Riza went on. "But he felt that Mustang, who was his most promising student, wasn't quite ready to learn flame alchemy. Several years before his death, he entrusted his research notes to me." She paused, and Roy took up the story.

"My teacher was very ill during the last few years of his life," he explained. "He was a proud man, and he needed to be sure that _someone_ would carry on his legacy. So, in the event that he died without actually teaching anyone flame alchemy, he wanted _Riza_ to select a worthy successor to whom his research notes could be given. He was extremely disappointed when I joined the military, which he hated and mistrusted. But, in spite of those feelings, when I went to see him just before his death, he said he regretted not teaching me when he'd had the chance, and then told me that his daughter had all of his research. With his dying breath, he apologized and begged me to look after her."

Hawkeye hadn't known that part of the story, and she blinked at Roy in surprise.

"After the funeral, I asked Riza about the notes." He turned back to Hawkeye, who took up the thread again.

"And I knew that if my father had told him to ask me for the notes, then he intended Mustang to inherit them. And even though he had joined the military and planned to become a state alchemist, I believed in him, and in his ideals. So I made my choice."

Hughes, who had glanced over at Mustang again, saw him flinch as though her words caused him physical pain. And he thought he could guess what was coming next.

"I showed him my father's notes. And then—after I saw what Mustang had been made to do in the war, what kind of destruction he had been made to inflict as a State Alchemist, in the name of protecting the country…" she trailed off again, and all three were silent for a moment, each thinking about the lives they had taken with their own hands because their superiors told them that it was right. "The day they announced the war was over," she continued in a subdued voice, "I asked Mustang to destroy those notes, to burn them so that no one else could ever decipher my father's secrets. So that no other flame alchemists can be born into this world because of me."

Roy looked utterly miserable. He blamed himself for all of this, Hughes realized. Even the girl's regrets.

"Look…I appreciate the confidence you've placed in me by telling me all of this, and I don't mean to sound as though I am taking this too lightly, but…how does this involve me, again?" Hughes asked, confused.

Riza exchanged another of those significant looks with Mustang, and then turned around, unbuttoned the shirt she wore, and let it slip off her shoulders to her elbows. She turned her head slightly so that both men could hear her speak. "The research notes…my father made sure that no one would be able to see them unless I chose to reveal them. You see?"

The silence was overwhelming, and Riza wondered whether they'd broken Hughes's brain. He stood there for a full three minutes, gaping at the intricate tattoo on her back. Feeling exposed, she finally pulled the shirt back up and tuned to face the two men again, her arms crossed tightly over her chest and her cheeks faintly pink. Hughes still hadn't moved a muscle. Anxious, she looked to Roy. He was frowning slightly, watching his friend, but he didn't look worried. He knew that Hughes was replaying the whole story again in his head, going back to insert this key piece of the puzzle into what they'd just told him.

Finally, Hughes straightened his glasses again and cleared his throat.

"Well then. If we're going to do this thing, then we're going to need much stronger painkillers."

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><p><strong>A.N. Hughes had to know about all this, there's no way his best mate didn't confide in him at some point. Probably. Oh, all right. I just really wanted an excuse to have him there; I adore Hughes :D<strong>

**Thanks for reading! More to come soon!**

**xoxo Janieshi**


	3. Chapter 3

**Scar Tissue: ****Chapter 3**

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><p>Riza was stretched out on her stomach on Roy's bed, looking far more relaxed than she had any right to. Her bottom half was covered by a sheet; her chin resting on her crossed arms. She was watching Roy as he set out the medical supplies on a small round table beside the bed, obsessively straightening and re-straightening the disinfectant, the antiseptic, and the sterile gauze pads that they would be using to bandage her burns.<p>

He was trying very hard not to think about the fact that Riza Hawkeye was lying two feet away, in his bed, naked as the day she was born and smelling tantalizingly of his soap.

While she'd been showering, scrubbing her skin as sterile as hot water and soap could make it, the two men had stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets and argued over pain medication. Putting Riza under for the duration of the "operation" was out of the question, as none of them had the medical knowledge necessary to do so safely. Not to mention that they had no access to the drugs and equipment an anesthesiologist would need… Hughes had returned to the pharmacy to fetch some stronger painkillers, of course, but those would be more useful to Hawkeye _after_ the damage was done. In the end, they had no choice. They'd have to burn her skin without giving her anything beforehand at all.

It was Maes who had asked how they'd stifle Hawkeye's screams. He'd also intimated that Roy's neighbors might mistake the cries of pain for cries of something else, which had earned him a sharp punch in the arm, even though Roy himself had been thinking the exact same thing the night before. Hughes had of course returned the blow, and the two had scuffled like a couple of schoolboys for a moment. They'd stopped abruptly when Riza had padded into the room clad in nothing but a towel.

Hughes had been amused by the discovery of yet another facet of Riza Hawkeye's character: in addition to the level-headed, efficient sniper and the curvy pin-up girl with smoldering bedroom eyes, there was the shy girl next door, looking vulnerable and innocent. She was blushing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes and asking them to please turn around for a moment, as though she hadn't just stood in front of both men mostly naked less than an hour earlier.

A fascinating woman, Hughes had thought with a grin as he'd turned his back obligingly. Though she was not nearly as amazing as his own Gracia, of course.

"So…who else needs a nice stiff drink before we start?" Hughes said lightly, rubbing his damp palms against his thighs. Never mind that it was still rather early in the morning. Riza chuckled softly behind him.

"No booze for the guy about to light my skin on fire, okay?" she said. He grinned at her.

"All right, deal. More for us that way, huh?" And she laughed again, a little more naturally.

Roy glared at them both, but then simply sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. Hughes was only trying to diffuse the tension in the room with humor, he knew that. And Hawkeye, who was lying there like a sacrificial lamb on an altar, was being braver than anyone he'd ever known. Judging by last night, she was a quivering mass of terror on the inside, but without the alcohol lowering her defenses, she was once again hiding it extremely well.

"Is it weird, that we're doing this right now? I mean, it feels like we should wait until the dead of night and dress up in some ceremonial robes or something, doesn't it?" Hughes was saying, gesturing to the bright morning light streaming in through the windows. "It's just…so _normal_ out there."

"Mm, maybe we need to put this off until we have some nice stormy weather, with lightning and thunder and torrential rain. Would that be appropriately dark and mysterious for you?" she teased back.

"Yes. I think that it would help," he huffed, pretending to be offended. "Atmosphere is very important!" Even Roy smiled this time. And then he cleared his throat.

"Maes. Can we have a moment, please?"

"Sure thing. I'll just, uh, go and get myself that drink then," Hughes replied, and he sidled out of the room.

He shook his head when he realized that Roy wasn't even going to close the door behind him. Of course he would be standing in the hallway and listening, what kind of intelligence officer did they think he was? He scoffed silently and leaned against the wall, waiting.

Riza turned her head to look at Roy as he sat in a chair beside the bed.

"Last chance to change your mind, Hawkeye," he said softly. She bit her lip.

"Thank you for offering me the option, but I won't change my mind. There's no going back now," she replied. He smiled ruefully at her.

"Somehow I knew you'd say that," he murmured. "There's something I wanted to tell you, before we do this."

He sounded a bit nervous, and Riza's heart began to beat faster in response to his words. What did he need to tell her? He took a deep breath, and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Lacing his fingers together, he started to speak in a low and serious voice.

"When I left you that day, to report to my military post, I wasn't sure whether I'd ever see you again. I thought maybe we'd write now and then, but that we'd inevitably grow apart as we went along on our separate ways."

Unable to meet her eyes any longer, he lowered his head.

_Where is he going with this?_ Riza wondered. Was he trying to say he didn't want to stay in contact with her after he destroyed her tattoo? She wouldn't blame him, really. She'd caused him so much pain; she had seen it written clearly across his face when she'd greeted him that day on the battlefield. He'd blamed himself for the fact that she'd joined the military and ended up in that nightmarish place; that she'd stained her hands with blood because of a naïve dream he had once shared with her. It would break her heart to lose him…and not just because he'd been her first real friend.

But Riza knew that if removing herself from his life would make him happier… then she would do it.

She was a grown woman, after all, and she was good at burying her feelings. She'd find the strength somehow. As she opened her mouth to tell him that she understood what he was trying to say, though, he continued.

"And after a while, we did start to lose contact. When I was in Ishval… I kept thinking how grateful I was that _you_ would never know what I had done. You'd never know how far I had fallen, how blood-stained my hands had become. I'd never have to see the hatred in your eyes, never have to hear you curse me for deceiving you…" and here his voice broke, and he had to swallow several times before he could go on.

"And then there you were. The one person I couldn't bear to face—the one person whose opinion actually mattered to me. Not only did I betray you and your father by using his alchemy to do…what I _did_, but I'd even made you believe in my foolish ideals, and because of that-" he made a little choked noise in his throat, and Riza realized with a start that he was close to tears.

The rest of his words tumbled out all in a rush, as though they had been waiting to be said for a long time.

"Riza, your innocence was lost because of _me_. Your hands are stained with blood because of _me_. I've failed your father's final request, and I've betrayed your trust, and I wanted to beg for your forgiveness. I-I'll understand if you don't want to see me again after this is over…so I just wanted to ask you now while I still have the chance. Can…can you possibly forgive me?"

The silence stretched on as he waited for her answer, still looking down at the floor rather than at her face.

"You're an idiot," she snapped suddenly, voice cold and brittle.

Roy's head snapped up in shock, agony in his dark eyes. But the soft, pained expression on her face froze him solid.

"Of _course_ I forgive you," she whispered. "I can't believe you thought you had to ask."

"I—Riza…" he said softly in that choked voice.

Riza started to sit up, and then remembered that she was wearing only a sheet. She managed to tug it around to cover herself so that she could sit up and face him. It was her turn to be the strong one, the one with the right words. It was her turn to offer solace and encouragement.

"Yes, I listened to your hopeful, naïve and idealistic plans for the future," she began. "And when I first saw you again in the crosshairs of the sniper rifle in my bloodstained hands, I wanted to hate you. I even _tried_ to hate you, to blame you for everything…but I couldn't."

She'd never be able to hate him. And she wondered if he'd ever realize that.

"I was the one who decided to join the military, Roy; I'm not some innocent victim in all of this. I pulled the trigger again and again of my own volition. You can't take the blame for everything; I'm responsible for my own actions at least."

She reached out one hand to touch his, while she held the thin sheet to her chest with the other. His cold fingers curled around hers.

"Maybe we'll never be able to truly make amends for the things we've done… It's too late to go back and do things differently," she said. "But I listened, when you were talking to Hughes back there. You want to change things, don't you? Going forward, you want to do some good, to use your talents and skills to make things better? Well, so do I." Roy was looking at her with mingled disbelief and hope.

"You'd be willing to follow me?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other for a long minute, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words, her hand still warm in his. Somewhere outside a dog barked, and they both jumped a little. Mustang released her hand, the spell between them broken. He cleared his throat.

"Well, we should probably call Hughes back in before his filthy mind starts imagining something inappropriate is going on in here," he joked weakly. (In the hallway, Hughes snorted and took that as his cue to head to the kitchen.) Hawkeye flushed that lovely color again, and nodded in agreement. A little awkwardly, she shifted to settle herself back down on the bed. Mustang reached out to help her arrange the sheet properly.

And if his fingertips brushed her sensitive skin as he did so, she didn't reproach him.

"Ready when you are, then," she said, looking up at him.

Mustang could only swear to himself that he would fight with everything he had to become worthy of the complete trust he saw in her eyes.

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><p><strong>A.N. Thank you all for the reviewsalerts/favorites. Your words of encouagement keep me going. Constructive criticism is also deeply appreciated! :D**

**More to come soon!**

**xoxo Janieshi**


	4. Chapter 4

**Scar Tissue: ****Chapter 4**

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><p>"Riza, we're nearly done. Just hold on a little longer, okay?" Mustang said.<p>

She nodded stiffly, tears in her eyes and beads of sweat standing out on her pale face. Hughes carefully patted her uninjured shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. To take his mind off her pain, Roy explained what he was doing for Hughes's benefit.

"In order to remove the darker pigmentation of the tattoo so that it is gone for good, I have to make sure the burns extend down into the dermis layer. The trick is to destroy the skin enough to cause scar tissue to form, but not so badly that she'd end up with nerve damage." His voice was cool, clinical, as though he were thinking only of the hard scientific facts and not of the suffering of the flesh and blood woman under his hands.

"So…you're making them third degree burns, then?" Hughes frowned, trying to think back to what he'd learned in biology. He was interested in the particulars of this procedure almost in spite of himself.

"Mm, really they're on the borderline between second and third," Roy replied. "We need partial thickness second degree burns. Ironically, if they were worse, they'd hurt her less, because we'd be frying off the nerves entirely and she'd lose the ability to feel _anything_ on those portions of skin, much less pain."

From the corner of his eye, Hughes saw Hawkeye frown a little. He wondered whether she'd fully considered all of the risks before she'd asked for this.

"But of course, if we did that," Roy was saying. "She'd need to undergo surgery for skin grafts, and then she'd be looking at months of recuperation rather than weeks. Plus, we'd need to take her to a real hospital, which would sort of defeat the whole purpose. Once I'm done with this portion," he gestured, "I'll have to debride the dead tissue before I bandage her wounds. Did you find those tweezers I was asking you about?"

"Uh-huh. Right there," he said, nodding towards the table. "So why aren't you using your gloves?"

He knew what Roy was doing, chattering on like this. But he'd been genuinely curious about the candle his friend had carried carefully into the room, and the circle he had drawn out so painstakingly on the floor. Surely using the gloves would have been easier?

"I'm not using those things on **her**. Ever," Mustang said savagely, whirling on his friend.

Hughes raised his hands in front of his chest defensively. Even Riza raised her head slightly in alarm.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry, I was just asking. I didn't even think about it that way…" And Mustang deflated like a balloon. He scrubbed a hand over his face again and sighed before meeting Hughes's concerned eyes.

"I'm sorry, Maes," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to snap at you." Hughes nodded briskly, and Roy turned his attention back to his childhood friend. "All right, Riza, this is the last bit. We're almost through," he murmured, and gently stroked her hair. Hughes resumed his former position with one steady hand on each shoulder, and Riza closed her eyes again and braced herself.

The flame of the candle grew and elongated when Mustang activated the circle, and then slowly trailed through the air until it hovered above Riza's back. Hughes could feel the heat of it, as close as his hands were to her tattoo, and he marveled again at his friend's talent. With an intense expression of concentration, Roy moved the white-hot ball of flame slowly over the last spot he needed to eradicate, rather like a blowtorch. The girl's whole body went rigid with the effort of not crying out aloud.

Her back arched, and a tiny sound escaped her lips before she bit down hard on the knotted handkerchief Hughes had given her earlier. Hughes made a soothing noise and pressed her shoulders down just a little more firmly. She was breathing hard, and small involuntary noises of pain escaped her lips every so often, but she was far less vocal than either man had anticipated. Roy had been terrified he would be hearing her screams of agony in his nightmares for years to come.

Although, now that he thought about it, those little whimpers were just as bad. He wondered about her pain threshold, and then with a horrible sinking feeling, he wondered what had happened when the tattoo was put into place. Had it hurt as badly? Had it been worse? He wasn't sure if he had the courage to ask her.

At last, the portion he'd needed gone was finished, and Mustang extinguished the fire hovering above Riza's back. Moving quickly, he pulled the dead and charred tissue away from her fresh wounds with the tweezers, bearing down on the impulse to retch as the skin peeled away like wet tissue paper. Hughes had to turn away at this point, taking deep breaths through his mouth while black spots swam through his vision.

But both men had seen worse, had done worse, and they would face this.

Riza's breath was coming in ragged pants, and she was beginning to shake with the effort of holding her body still under the intense pain. Finally, Mustang covered the raw red and pink wounds with sterile dressings. He wouldn't bind them with bandages just yet, as he would need Riza to sit up for that part. He wanted to wait until she'd downed enough pain pills before even thinking of moving her around like that. Plus, this way he'd be able to change them a time or two first, with a minimum of movement on her part.

While he tidied up the various medical and alchemic accoutrements, Hughes fussed over Hawkeye, whose tears were streaming more freely now. Hughes pulled the thin sheet up over her carefully, mindful of her wounds, and then fetched a glass of water with a straw and several pain pills. The wan, watery smile she offered him when he held the straw to her lips completely melted his heart.

Though he didn't know this girl very well, Hughes felt that being a witness to this very private and very painful moment in her life gave him a vested interest in her well-being. He was beginning to consider her as a sort of adopted kid sister. Never mind that she was barely four years his junior. Something about her current helpless state, combined with what he now knew of her past, as well as the fortitude with which she'd faced this ordeal…it was making all of his protective instincts kick in. Pulling a clean handkerchief out of his breast pocket, he carefully wiped the tears off of her face and tried to smile as cheerfully as he always did. Watching from the corner of his eye, Roy found himself thinking that Hughes would make an excellent father.

Seeing that Hughes was sufficiently distracted, and their patient was not looking in his direction either, Roy slipped out of the room and allowed himself to sag weakly against the wall of the hallway outside. He covered his face with his hands—his killers' hands—and started to shake. He took several deep breaths as he slid slowly down the wall until he was sitting on the ground, forcing aside the images now burned into his memory of the wounds he had inflicted on his childhood friend. The way her back had arched in pain, how her muscles had tensed, how the tears had slowly leaked from her eyes though she was fighting them with everything she had… and never mind how her soft silken skin had reddened and blistered and charred under his hands.

"Oh god. I'm sorry, Riza. I'm so sorry," he whispered into his hands.

He could still hear Hughes's low murmuring from inside the room, punctuated every so often by Riza's softer tone. When he heard heavy footsteps approaching the door, Roy struggled to pull himself together in time to meet his friend's discerning eye.

"Ready for that drink now, I'll bet," Maes said softly, looking down at Roy. He didn't comment on the fact that his friend was sitting on the ground against the wall shaking like a leaf. Roy shook his head.

"I can't—I don't want to leave her all alone just yet." Hughes just pursed his lips and watched him for a moment.

"Look, I'm supposed to meet Gracia for a lunch date soon," he said finally. "How about this: You sit with her now, keep an eye on her. I'll come back here later this evening and keep you both company, make sure everything is still going all right. I'll even bring you both some dinner. Deal?" he asked, extending a hand. Mustang knew that even if he refused, Hughes would still show up. He snorted softly.

"Deal," he replied, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Hughes left soon after that, and by the time Mustang returned to his room, Riza had fallen asleep. He smiled a little as he remembered that painkillers had always made her tired and loopy. Pulling his chair closer to the bed, he settled down to hold vigil over his sleeping victim. No, not victim—patient, he reminded himself. He couldn't keep beating himself up like this. It was what she had wanted, and he had agreed…it was done. He couldn't regret this now.

But the doubt crept in anyway. _Should_ he have left so much of the tattoo untouched? Would it be enough? There was no way he could do this over again…had the burns been deep enough? What if, after all of this, her skin didn't scar as much as he'd anticipated and the tattoo was still visible? What if he had failed her again? Would she be able to forgive him again? What if he had to do this again, watch her flinch and shudder under his hands as her skin was torn apart by his flames? Had to watch her fight her tears, trying so damned hard to be strong for his sake as though he wouldn't see how much pain she was in, how she suffered?

God, he hated this! Why did he have to be the one to do this to her? Sure, she'd told him that he was the only one she trusted, but just look where that trust had gotten her. And now, every time she saw her scars in the mirror, she would think of him, and think of what she'd had to endure. She would associate him with her pain and suffering, and she would grow to hate him. How could she not? He didn't realize that tears were streaming down his own cheeks until her sleepy voice interrupted his internal monologue.

"Shouldn't I be the one crying right about now, Mr. Mustang?" she mumbled, with a sleepy eye fixed on his face.

Roy froze. She hadn't called him that since they were children. Ever since he'd joined the military, she'd addressed him by his rank.

"It's not your fault. I _asked_ you to do this," she continued in the same dreamy voice, her eyes slowly closing again. Really she was only half lucid, caught between a memory and a dream. Even in such a state, she still knew _exactly_ what was going through his mind. And her gentle words calmed him down somewhat.

What right did he have to cry, anyway? Riza needed him to be strong right now; he couldn't afford to wallow in self-pity when she still needed him. He swiped at his own face impatiently and reached for the basin of cool water Hughes had left out.

"It doesn't change the fact that I'm sorry, Miss Riza," he replied softly, using the honorific he'd always attached to her name when he'd lived under her father's roof.

He dipped a cloth in the water, and squeezed it out carefully before using it to wipe the sweat off of her forehead. He was sure the fever would kick in soon, if it hadn't already, as her body fought to heal itself and prevent infection from setting into her burn wounds. He'd need to get her an extra blanket, and he would need to keep checking on her throughout the night.

As the cool cloth touched her skin, Riza's lips parted to release a soft sigh, and goose bumps sprang up all along Roy's arms. His hands shook slightly, and his mouth went dry, and he had to tell himself to get a grip before he could continue. Once he finished sponging her forehead, he moved the cloth along her hairline, where her bright golden hair had darkened with sweat, and then over the exposed side of her neck and throat. For a moment, the only sound in the room was her labored breathing and the soft swish of damp cloth on bare skin.

"Riza…I'm so sorry," he whispered again at last, unable to resist.

"You're going to have to stop apologizing, Roy," she said. Her voice was a little clearer than before, and she seemed to be fighting the haze of the painkillers. "You never had to say it out loud…I already knew how you felt about this. And now it's just redundant."

"You amaze me, Riza," he managed through the lump in his throat. She just smiled.

And then her eyes flew open again, and she looked at him with a mixture of fear and hope. It was the way she'd often looked at him when they were children, when she was still learning to trust him.

"Will you stay with me for a while?" she asked, her voice suddenly small and childlike. Mustang felt his heart constrict as he recognized the words…she'd asked him the same thing once, long ago. The first time she'd ever asked a favor of him, as a matter of fact, and he'd gladly stayed up half the night reading aloud to the feverish girl. He'd do it again now without hesitation if that's what she wanted. He snorted a little and reached for her hand.

"I can't believe you thought you had to ask."

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><p><strong>A.N. Thank you so much for the reviews and alerts and favorites! For some reason, several of the links the system sent me for my last chapter were broken, and wouldn't let me respond to the reviews from the last chapter. So I wanted to say a special thank you to ssadropout, Cerisabeth, and Sweetdeath04 (as well as my anons Franoncrack, Reader, Kate, and Wise to whom I cannot respond individually anyway). Your words of encouragement are deeply appreciated!<strong>

**-xoxo Janieshi**


	5. Epilogue

**Scar Tissue: Epilogue**

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><p>When Hughes returned in the early evening, he found Roy dozing beside a soundly sleeping Riza. Her left hand was still in his, and his head was resting on the bed next to her shoulder. With his back and neck bowed like that, Hughes was sure he wasn't comfortable, and he wondered how he'd even managed to fall asleep in such a position. He cleared his throat loudly. Roy jerked awake and cringed at his own sudden movement, his right hand flying to the back of his neck. His left stayed firmly entwined with Riza's.<p>

"Ouch…dammit Hughes, you startled me. Wait. How'd you get in here? I thought I locked the door when you left earlier," he half turned towards his friend, puzzled.

"You did. I broke in," he grinned. "The time it took to pick the lock was totally worth the look on your face, buddy."

Roy growled under his breath. But before he could retort, Riza stirred a little, and he quickly turned his attention to her with an anxious expression. She exhaled heavily and was quiet again, and Roy reached out his free hand to check on her fever.

"She was having nightmares earlier," he confessed softly. Hughes raised an eyebrow.

"Ishval?"

"No, surprisingly enough. She was dreaming about her childhood." Hughes shook his head, uncomprehending. Roy clenched his right hand into a fist. "From what she was saying, it was about when this tattoo was put into place."

"God," Hughes breathed softly.

"I've never been able to ask…when exactly her father did this to her. Was it before or after I left for the academy? Or was it during one of the weekends I was visiting Chris and the girls? Before I was even his student?" His eyes had gone dark again.

"Does it really matter?" Hughes interrupted him, pulling the other chair over to sit beside him. "Finding out now _when_ it happened won't change the fact that it happened, you know? It's ancient history at this point."

"Yeah. I know. It's just that…in her dream," Roy said softly, squeezing her hand a little, "she...she was begging him to stop. Said he was hurting her. And then she called out my name."

"She talks in her sleep, huh? That's just too damn cute," Hughes practically cooed, clasping his hands together and wriggling a little.

Roy whipped his head up to glare at his friend.

"Oh, don't give me that look," Hughes said, his dewy-eyed look replaced with a serious one in the blink of an eye. "She was having a nightmare, Roy. That doesn't necessarily mean she said those exact words when it actually happened. And to be fair, her back must hurt like hell right now, and that's bound to affect things. When's the last time she took a pain pill?" Distracted, Roy frowned down at his watch. Hughes clapped his hand on Roy's shoulder. "All right, so you get her up and medicated, and I'll go grab the food," he turned to leave the room. Mustang smiled weakly.

"You didn't actually cook, did you? Please tell me you picked up take-out food from somewhere."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Hughes cried indignantly.

"I'm just saying; we have an invalid here. Poor Hawkeye has enough to deal with without your giving her food poisoning or indigestion or something," he smirked.

"I'll have you know, I'll never have to cook again once Gracia marries me! The woman is a culinary genius! The other day, she made me a boxed lunch, and I have never tasted such-"

"Yeah, yeah," Roy interrupted, pushing him out the door. "That's great buddy. Go get the food, already." Hughes skipped off down the hall and Roy had to fight the urge to laugh.

How did Maes always do that? Make such a heavy atmosphere dissipate like smoke?

Riza's memories of that night were always foggy. She vaguely remembered cool hands on her head, and a steaming mug of broth being held to her lips. She was pretty sure she had dozed off to the sound of the two men arguing softly over whether or not she would need another blanket.

When she woke again, it was early dawn. Sunday. She would need to be back in the barracks tonight, to be sure no one got suspicious. Once there, she could feign illness for another day or two, and by that time the pain should be manageable enough to stop taking the pills that made her so tired and out of it. She hoped.

Moving slowly, she curled onto one side and drew her knees up. Mentally evaluating her wounds, she tried to calculate when she'd be able to bathe normally again. Sponge baths reminded her too much of Ishval, where the soldiers had to make do with what little water was available. She would kill for a nice long soak in a real bathtub right about now. She was about to close her eyes again and try to sleep a bit more when she realized someone was in the room with her. She could feel his presence, but it took a confused moment or two before she spotted him in the darkness.

Roy was standing motionless by the window, and seemed to be reading a letter by the pale light there. It was still too dark for her to see his face. She lay perfectly still and watched him for several more minutes before he spoke.

"Did you mean what you said before, about being willing to follow me?" It was difficult to judge his mood from his tone of voice. His silhouette was not nearly as expressive as his dark eyes were, and she wondered what he was thinking.

"You really need to stop asking me that; it's starting to become insulting," was all she said. She heard him snort softly.

"All right. I'll only ask you once more, and then I'm going to take your word for it." She eyed the envelope in his hand, suspicion dawning.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"When you get back to the barracks tonight, there'll be a letter just like this one waiting for you, too. I'm sure of it…" he folded the letter and put it back into the envelope. "But we won't discuss it anymore here. Rest now, Riza."

"Yes, sir," she said, half mockingly. He chuckled, and she felt the mattress dip as he sat beside her in the dark. If everything went according to plan, she would be calling him 'sir' for years to come. He ran a hand through her short tousled hair, and then she felt his lips on her forehead.

"I could get used to that," he murmured, amused.

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><p><strong>A.N. Finished at last! Thank you so much to all of those who reviewed and to those who alertedfavorited me and this story! I appreciate all of the kind and encouraging words :D Thanks for reading!**

**xoxo Janieshi**


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